In Just One Moment
by Anakin Bester
Summary: Trom watches as his home is destroyed by the mazoku. Fiarly dark for me. This was written partially as a response to sept 11.


**In Just One Moment**   
  
  


"Ouji-sama!" cried a frantic voice.

"Ouji-sama, come back!" shouted another breathlessly. The chests of the two guardsmen heaved with the strain of keeping track of the nimble boy. Their dark hair lay matted across blood stained faces, and their heavy armor, cracked and broken in some places, weighted down their steps. Squinting through the smoke, they could just barely see the bobbing blue ponytail disappearing through the woods.

Heedless of the pleading cries, Trom continued on his path. He took no notice of the branches that clung to him and scratched his already abused face; his entire mind focused on reaching the precipice. Desperately, the child pushed on ahead. As he drew closer to the overhang, the air grew thick with stifling heat. A black smoky haze clung to the surrounding woodlands. The normal green of the leaves appeared dirtied and washed out by the soot that marred the surface. The trees could have turned bright purple for all the notice Trom took of them. Bursting past the last of the foliage, Trom ran across the rocky, treacherous terrain until he reached the cliff. Then, he collapsed to his knees. His breath came in rough, gasping gulps as his lungs tried to suck oxygen from smoldering air. Though miles above his country, Trom could feel the stinging heat irritating his already singed and bruised skin. Trom's trembling hands pulled the wet tunic off his heaving chest, then wiped beads of perspiration away from his dry eyes. 

Sounds of destruction filled the boy's ears. Guns clamored in the night, mixing with the screams of the dying and despairing. Bit by bit though, the noise died away. An eerie silence unfolded across the war torn land. Only the monstrous roar of the raging inferno could be heard. Still gasping and winded, Trom shut his eyes tightly against the feeling of dread that oozed through him, leaving him cold and shaking. He couldn't look up. He didn't want to see, didn't want to know, and yet he knew he had to look. That's why he had come to this place. 

For a moment another brighter memory pushed away the horror of the present. Once again, Trom could feel his father's strong shoulders beneath him, the large strong hands holding his legs securely as Trom sat on his father's shoulders and overlooked the kingdom from this vantage point. That day, clear and sunny, Dal Segno appeared indestructible. Its towers stood tall and glorious against the horizon line. The castle seemed to guard over the bustling, happy city-state, like a father watching his child play. Trom clung to that memory, wishing he could hear his father's voice now, reassuring him, telling him how the country of the sword could stand against all enemies. If only the infernal heat would die down, Trom could almost believe that the silence, which stretched across the land now, was nothing more than the silence of peace. In his heart, he knew better. 

A gasp from a guardsman behind Trom finally brought the child fully back into the now. He hadn't realized they'd caught up to him. 

"What?" Trom cried out, his childish voice wavering as sickening ear took hold of him once again.

"Ouji-sama," The guard murmured, bending to hug the child tightly.

Irritated, Trom pushed the guard away and stood up quickly, his fist clenched in defiance of the sight he knew he would see. Or thought he would see. Sometimes the mind cannot begin to imagine the horror reality can conceive.

The castle was falling.

The destruction of their army had not been enough. The death of Trom's parents, the King and Queen, had not been enough. The fires that ravaged the land and turned the skies red with flame and black with smoke and ash were not enough. The castle fell. Trom stared in horror, struck dumb as he watched the symbol of his nations might begin to descend. Not just one section, or the outer wall, but the entire structure fell to the might of the combined mazoku army. In reality what took only a few seconds seemed to prolong itself into hours to the eyes of a single, heartsick child.

Disbelieving, the boy took a shaky step away, as though distance would make the event less of a reality. Having been the target of repeated blasts, the tower wall crumbled first. Their once proud form dissolved into dust and crumbled to the earth below. Numbly, Trom wondered if anyone remained alive beneath the outer wall. The towers now lay in rubble and beneath their weight, the entire castle had begun to fall. Huge chunks of the once mighty fortress broke apart, crumbling as they plummeted to the ground. As more and more of the castle died, a cloud of dust rose into the sky like fall out from a bomb. Even as far from the destruction as he was, Trom could feel the earth shake as the last of the gigantic structure plunged to the earth. Silently Trom watched and listened to the death cries of his nation. 

The dust spread like a visible pestilence across the landscape of fiery destruction and death. And then silence overtook the cacophony of the screaming castle. As if while adjusting to the abrupt change in landscape, the land held its breath. Trom shook his head slowly at first, then faster as denial set in. His mouthed formed the word 'no' over and over but no scream came from the child. If he screamed or cried, then it had happened. Then his parents were dead, then his friends were dead, then Dal Segno would be dead.

Numb the boy could feel the arms of the guard still wrapped around him.

"Ouji-sama, we need to leave."

Trom didn't move, not even a muscle, his eyes remained fixed on the place where his home had once proudly stood.

"We have to wait for my parents," he said in a whispery voice.

"Ouji-sama,"

"We have to wait for my parents," Trom screamed whirling around to face the man. "They'll come! They will come!" Unbidden tears began to stream down the boys soot streaked cheeks. He knew has parents' fate. They hadn't lived. They hadn't even lived long enough to see the castle fall. Strangely, Trom found that comforting.

"They..." the words choked in the boys throat and he looked piteously up at the guardsmen.

In that moment, the silence from below was shattered. A noise rose from the war zone. So unbelievable was the sound that at first Trom couldn't place it. But then the sound grow louder, more distinct as more and more voices took it up. Jubilation. From the wreckage of his home, came the sound of cheering. The mazoku celebrated the death they'd caused.

"Bastards!" Trom screeched, grabbing his sword, "Bastards," he repeated over and over until the word became an incoherent shriek of rage. Clenching his fists and beating uselessly against the guard who held him tight, the child continued to scream in helpless rage.

The sobs that had remained locked within his chest finally burst through as he began hysterically crying for his parents.

Unable to help, the guard lifted the young boy into his arms and began to hurry the child away.

"Momma!" Trom shrieked, fighting against he arms that dragged him further away.

"Momma!" he held out a trembling hand as though he was trying to touch what no longer existed. Wide eyed the boy took a finale look at the smoldering rubble that had been his country. "Mommy, Daddy," he whimpered a finale time before the foliage moved in to hide the horizon.

Hamel snorted awake and looked around. At first he couldn't place what had awakened him, but then he heard it again, a sorrowed filled cry from close by.

"What the hell," he grumbled irritably, scrubbing at his sleep thickened eyes.

"It's Trom," Flute said quietly from beside. Hamel made an annoyed sound and looked at the small form the lay huddled beneath some blankets just a few feet away from Raiel. The pianist had awakened also and sat staring sympathetically at their young companion.

"Che, we'll never get any sleep at this rate. Why's that cry baby gotta tag along?"

Flute stared as Hamel pulled his own covers back over himself and flopped back onto the ground. Her eyes blazed with disbelieving anger at how insensitive the violinist could be. However, another sorrowful whimper reminded the girl that beating Hamel's cloddish brains in was a secondary concern.

Brushing her loose hair from her face, Flute rose and went over to Trom. Sitting beside the child, she drew him up into her arms.

"I wasn't sure if I should wake him." Raiel said softly, reaching out to brush some blue hair out of Trom's sweat drenched face.

"It's all right." Flute said to Raiel as she hugged Trom tightly.

Instinctively the little boy clung to the motherly presence. "Momma," he whimpered

Flute flinched softly, wanting to tell him it was just a dream, but she knew that would be a lie. "Trom-kun," she whispered shaking his shoulder slightly, "Wake up."

After a moment her jostling and soft insistence drew the boy out from the depths of his nightmare.

"Mo.. Nee-chan?" Trom stuttered looking up into Flute's comforting gaze. Flute just hugged the boy, letting him know, without saying meaningless platitudes, that she was there for him. His memories still gripped by the vivid memory, Trom began to cry, his tears staining Flute's white nightshirt.

"It isn't fair," Trom whimpered hoarsely. "It isn't fair! That wasn't supposed to happen." For a moment Trom's angry protests broke down into incoherent into sobs again. Then he began to shake in Flute's arms. "I want them to die!" he snarled, his body growing rigid with hate. 

"All those god damn mazoku need to die!"

Unbidden, Flute and Raiel both looked over at Hamel. The violinist had sat up and was looking directly at Trom with a pained expression.

Flute opened her mouth to say something about tolerance, but Raiel met her gaze and shook his head.

Flute sighed and continued to stroke the child's head, wishing she could do more to comfort him. Slowly, his fury ebbing away, the exhausted Prince began to slip back into sleep once again. In only a few moments he lay restfully in Flute's arms. "Poor kid," Raiel murmured, "I can only imagine."

Flute nodded tears of sympathy brimming in her own eyes.

Suddenly a heavyweight fell across her lap as well as Trom's sleeping form. Surprised, Flute looked up to see that Hamel had tossed his blanket onto Trom. Without a word, the normally calloused young man tucked the child in.

"He won't sleep well if he gets cold." Hamel muttered. Trying to make his actions seem self-centered he added, "And I don't need to be disturbed again. Noisy brat," he muttered softly as Trom's sniffling died away, "Can't ya even sleep quietly."

That said, Hamel sat down next to Flute. He remained by her side, watching over her, Raiel and Trom long after everyone else had drifted to sleep. When Trom began to sniffle once again, Hamel placed a hand on his shoulder. Silently, the musician looked up at the star speckled sky, his deep red eyes searching across the sky for answers. 


End file.
